


No One’s Escaping Desolation Row

by RoyaleBullets



Category: My Chemical Romance
Genre: Desolation Row, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-23
Updated: 2020-01-23
Packaged: 2021-02-27 06:07:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,570
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22372321
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RoyaleBullets/pseuds/RoyaleBullets
Summary: No one escapes Desolation Row. No one escapes this gentleman either. Somehow, Gerard has done both, though now this gentleman wants that to change.
Relationships: Frank Iero/Gerard Way, Frank/Gerard
Kudos: 5





	No One’s Escaping Desolation Row

**Author's Note:**

> It’s 3:32 am right now and I can’t sleep. I don’t know where this fic is going, but I was wondering if anyone would like to co-write it with me? If interested, email me at archiveserena747@gmail.com. <3
> 
> Also the first ch has 1570 words. I saw motionless in white a couple days ago - it was great - but coincidence? I think. Not.

It has been raining for quite the long time. Things are never in good order when it rains. The water washes away the sin. It washes away the mistakes. It washes away the lies that are meant to cloud the truth. Essentially, rain leaves nothing untouched.

As he’s sitting at the counter, smoking perhaps his fifth cigarette of the night, the rain continues its patter on the windows of the bar. It’s almost doing his job for him. And it’s not a bother. In fact, the drunk men’s slurs and shouts do more damage. It’s the constant swaying of the human world around him.

He taps his ashes into the tray and remembers something that had once been said to him. He remembers her words and the way she’d said them. How she’d felt like his ash tray. He taps his cigarette some more and scowls.

“Frank!” Bert says. “Another one?”

He looks at Bert, then waves him off. Another glass is poured for him anyway. It’s all right. He wanted it.

“She finally gone, huh?” Bert says. “Is that why you’re here? Drowning your sorrows?”

Frank smiles and takes the cigarette out his mouth. His fingers twirl the glass of whiskey. “It’s drowning lessons more like it. She left a long time ago.”

Bert doesn’t take his dark tone to heart. The gentleman stands and wipes down a beer cup. “So what? Women are creatures of the night anyway. Beings without much explanation.”

Frank smiles half-heartedly. He takes a puff of the cigarette.

“So why’re you sulking here if not ‘cause of a lady?”

His gaze lingers on his watch for a bit. The seconds tick by without much worry of time. It’s like all they want to do is keep moving forward. They’re leaving him behind. Then he looks up to Bert and stares at the gentleman. “I’m meeting someone.”

“Huh,” is all Bert says. He walks away when Frank waves him off once more.

The rain’s still out there, and it doesn’t seem like it’s going away anytime soon. He’s left alone again. Alone with his thoughts. Alone with his cigarettes. Alone with himself. His life seems exactly like she said it would be without her. But he doesn’t care. He never loved her. He never saw anything in her to love.

The cigarette seems to be finished faster than he would’ve liked, but before he can think, his fingers are already reaching for another one. It’s like fate when someone shoves a lighter in his face. His is almost out.

The fingers under his nose are bony. They look dry and the skin seems close to cracking open and bleeding but it stretches when the thumb clicks the button for the small flame. The pretty orange colors dance under his cigarette. It’s almost like they entrance him. Then they’re gone from under his nose faster than they appear.

He looks to the side.

There’s a young man, almost a boy, really, who’s got this daring pair of eyes. They’re almost the color of the flames that had just been under his nose, but perhaps it’s just his own vision adjusting to the darkness again. The boy’s are hazel. This mixture of green and yellow that melt into one another as he smiles. For once, a smile that actually reaches the eyes.

“Frank, is it?” he asks, and the rough, bony fingers run through the messy raven hair. He’s smiling, showing off a row of small, crooked teeth below his sharp and pointy nose. This kid looks like a girl, Frank thinks.

“Huh,” is what he answers with.

The kid gestures for a drink and Bert pours him something, and he downs the glass in one go and asks for another. Then he sits himself down next to Frank and plays with the filled cup. There’s a tight leather jacket on him that stretches every time he breathes. He’s got these broad shoulders and these bony hands that Frank finds are too big for his body. A greaser. The kid’s a street rat.

Frank doesn’t realize he’s been staring at him until the kid snaps in his face. He smells drunk already. Like he’d been drunk before coming to a bar.

“Can I bum a cig?” he asks, gesturing to the pack Frank’s holding. It’s then Frank realizes the guy’s a junkie.

He offers the pack.

“Well, _Frank_. You wanted me? You got me.”  
Frank’s staring at the kid with tired confusion. He knows he’s drunk and high on nicotine, but there’s no way he can be dreaming this up. Not unless he’s already passed out on the bar floor.

“Not you,” he says.

The kid scoffs. He’s got a grand smile as he lights up the cigarette. “The one and only.”

Frank looks into his glass. The whiskey seems to be blurrier than before. He spins it around. “I’m looking for-”

“-Gerard. That’s _me_.” He talks out of one side of his mouth as he smokes, then he takes the cigarettes between two fingers and bends his hand in this artistic way as his eyes dance. This kid looks like art. He acts like art.

“Then tell me. You-”

“Desolation Row,” he grins, sparing Frank a glance before taking a sip of the whiskey.

Frank thinks he’s losing his mind. He searches for Bert, but the guy’s cleaning another set of mugs and glasses at the other end of the counter. He looks at his watch, but it’s exactly the time they’d agreed on. He looks into his whiskey and it’s blurrier yet again. Perhaps his mind had not been there to be lost in the first place.

“I know, I know,” Gerard sighs, “Not the guy to look it. I know, Frankie.”

He doesn’t like that nickname.

“Now, you said you were one of them smugglers, huh? Drugs, women, even criminals?” Gerard’s swaying side-to-side with that grin of his again. His tongue drags across his teeth as he twirls his cigarette. “I know you ain’t.”

Frank’s not particularly worried about that. It’s rather obvious, he thinks. Gerard’s no fool if he escaped Desolation Row. And though Frank’s still fascinated by it, though he’d respect it if he could, a job’s still a job.

Gerard clicks his tongue and shakes his head. His greasy raven hair shines like ink in the dim lighting. “I know what you are, Frank Iero. I know what you wanna’ be. This ain’t it.”

Frank smiles in return and takes a sip of his own drink. “Easy, isn’t it? To tell someone how to live their life – what they’re doing wrong with it.”

Gerard’s head drunkenly rolls on his shoulder to face him. “I ain’t your girlfriend. It’s not my business to tell you how to live it. But I’ll tell you one thing.”

Frank’s all ears.

“I know _why_ you’re here. I know _what_ you’ve come to do.”

That’s impossible.

Gerard laughs. “I can see it on your face. I know who you are. I know what you are. I know what you’ve got in them trousers. I know, Frankie. I know.” He takes out a bill and slides it across the bar counter in Bert’s direction. “Desolation Row teaches you a few things. You get this sense of dread at every noise ‘cause you think maybe it’s finally your turn to die. Maybe that noise is finally your chair being ready. All clean and shiny and sparkling. Just for you.”

Frank takes a puff of his cigarette. His hands are gripping his drink until the knuckles turn white. He can see Gerard looking at him.

“All those screams every night. Every morning. They teach ya’.” Gerard leans in. Frank can almost see him right under his nose. Those pretty hazel eyes looking right into his own. What’s funny is that he’s got the same color.

Frank breathes out the smoke into Gerard’s face. The kid grins.

“So let me tell ya’ something. Something that’ll set your mind right, huh, Mr. Iero.”

Then Gerard leans into his ear. Frank can feel the hot breath on his neck, and the kid chuckles. It’s suddenly become too stuffy in the bar. The rough, bony fingers find themselves in his collar and they tug as if to loosen it. It’s like Gerard’s reading his mind.

“Let me tell ya’ something you’ll never forget.”

And so, perhaps just half an hour later, Frank finds himself standing in front of a flaming bar. He’s got his hands in his pockets as he breathes in the smoke and watches the fire grow. It’s loud and hot, and though no one’s showed up to get rid of it yet, there’s enough chaos in his head to make up for all that. It’s strange to think how the rain has washed away nothing so far. 

Frank leans his head to one side and takes out another cigarette. He smokes it as he thinks, watching the flames engulf the only pub he’s ever known. He’s been told something. Gerard had told him something.

He calls someone.

“Forget it. I’m not doing it.”

Then he turns and goes with the cigarette between his lips, the suit jacket over his shoulder, and a roaring fire behind him. He might say it’s where he started. But Gerard. That Gerard. He said something.

And now Frank knows it. He understands what Gerard had told him.

After all, Gerard had escaped from Desolation Row.


End file.
